


oh, those summer nights!

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, Stargazing, Summer, just little plotless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 22:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15422649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Snippets of life, specifically in the summertime, featuring stars, fireflies, and freckles (to name a few).





	oh, those summer nights!

**Author's Note:**

> originally i wrote the [very first bit](http://hermannsthumb.tumblr.com/post/176214600938/more-little-fics-ive-written-for-pals-on-twitter) after a convo w @kaijubf on twitter abt newt, hermann, and summer, and i thought it'd be fun to write some more! i'm of the opinion that these boys deserve to be happy

Their home is nice, and they’ve got an equally nice backyard—it’s secluded, with plenty of trees, and large enough to host the elaborate side effects of Newton’s recently cultivated green thumb as well as a single hammock. Not nearly large enough to host a pool (to Newton’s chagrin) but that isn’t stopping Newton from strutting about the backyard in tiny swim trunks every chance he gets anyway. Like now, in fact. It’s a beautiful summer day, and Newton is more or less forcing Hermann out into the hammock to get some sun.

“You’re so pale,” he teases, “like a vampire, or something,” but he helps Hermann carefully into the hammock and makes sure he’s steady before he turns to go back inside. The hammock’s big enough for two—that’s why they bought it in the first place—and Hermann would like nothing more than to curl up happily with his husband. Hermann snags on to Newton’s swim trunks to point this out to Newton, but Newton shakes his head. “One sec,” he says.

“Don’t be long,” Hermann says, and he settles in, unbuttons the top of his collar to make himself more comfortable. There’s enough shade that the sun isn’t directly in his eyes, but not too much that he’s cold, and the clouds rolling overhead in the sky offer a nice view. And with how equally nice the hammock is—Hermann thinks he could stay here for a while. He’s nearly dozed off by the time he hears the sliding glass door open and shut and the unmistakable sound of Newton’s whistling as he crosses the lawn. Hermann cracks an eye open and gets an even better view than the clouds: Newton, stripped of his shirt and in  _just_ his swim trunks, tattoos all out on display and carrying a little glass towards Hermann.

He kneels down on the grass next to the hammock, at just the right height to swoop down and kiss Hermann with ease. “Here,” he murmurs, handing over the glass. It’s lemonade, Hermann thinks. Hermann takes and sips it as Newton plucks at his open collar with mock-admonishment. “Dr. Gottlieb,” he says, “how  _scandalous_. What will the neighbors think?”

Hermann brushes a hand down Newton’s chest, and Newton shivers pleasantly. “I could ask you the same,” Hermann says. “Those shorts are practically indecent, Newton.”

Newton steals the glass of lemonade and takes a sip of his own, then leans in and presses his lips to Hermann’s; they’re cool, and he tastes like sugar, and Hermann threads his fingers in the tangle of Newton’s hair to keep him there. “You don’t seem to mind,” Newton says against his mouth.

“No,” Hermann agrees. “Now please get up here with me, dear. It’s terribly lonely without you.”

Newton sets the glass down on the grass, and—with some difficulty—slips into the hammock next to Hermann, then kisses at the bit of the exposed skin at Hermann’s throat. “What  _else_ would they think,” Newton says, “if they saw you hooking up with the pool boy like this? What would your  _husband_  think, Doctor?”

Hermann can’t hold back his snort. “You’re my pool boy now, are you?”

Newton undoes another button and traces circles over Hermann’s collarbone. “Mm-hmm.”

“You’ll be disappointed, then, I’m afraid,” Hermann says. “We haven’t a pool.”

“Tragic,” Newton says, and steals another sweet kiss.

 

* * *

 

Newt strums a few chords on his ukulele. “Gimme a song,” he tells Hermann, who looks at him blankly, like he's never heard a single song in his life or something. Newt strums a little more insistently. "Just pick one."

“I don’t know,” Hermann says.

Alright. He can improvise, then. “Hermann is really _cute_ and _sexy_ ,” Newt begins, playing something vaguely tuneless, “and I loooove hiiiiiiiim...”

“Charming,” Hermann says. “Did you write that yourself?”

“Hermann is a _diiiiick_ ,” Newt sings instead, strumming wildly, “and can’t appreciate _artistry_...”

“Hermann is trying to watch television,” Hermann corrects, and pointedly turns up the volume on Shark Week. Which he didn’t even want to watch in the first place, Newt was the one that forced him to turn it on before he got bored and broke out the ukulele, so Hermann’s just being contrary for no reason now.

“You’re lame,” Newt says, and tosses the instrument to the armchair opposite the sofa. He gives Hermann a few seconds of peace before he straddles his lap—as Hermann exclaims with surprise—and bumps their noses together. “Pay attention to me.”

Hermann reaches up and pushes Newt’s glasses to the top of his head, then kisses his forehead. “How’s that?” he says, and pushes his glasses back down.

“Better,” Newt says, and continues to bump their noses together until Hermann finally sighs and shuts off the television.

 

* * *

 

“That is not the same firefly,” Hermann says. “There is no way on earth that is the same firefly.”

“Oh, it’s Hermann Jr. all right,” Newton says as the little bug crawls across his index finger. “The little guy missed me.” He’s practically cooing at it. Hermann rolls his eyes, albeit with a fondness.

“Newton, it’s identical to every other firefly you’ve caught tonight.”

“Don’t talk about our son like that, man, you’ll hurt his feelings,” Newton scolds, but smiles delightedly when Hermann Jr—the firefly—crawls down to his palm and then to his wrist. Its light flickers a few times. Newton’s smile gets bigger. “Look, he’s talking to us.” He watches it blink a few more times. “He’s saying ‘I love you, dads’ in bug Morse code. Oh—“ The little bug takes off, flying back in the direction of the bush Newton scooped it up from in the first place and leaving Newton mildly disappointed.

He gets over Hermann Jr fairly quickly when he catches another one a few minutes later. “You can name this one,” he tells Hermann, tipping it onto Hermann’s forearm before Hermann can stop him. It feels odd, the sensation of the little legs on his bare skin, but he humors Newton and doesn’t flick it off. “He might even be cuter than Hermann Jr.,” Newton says. Hermann refrains from pointing out how it, too, is identical to all the others. But, he supposes…

“It _is_ cute,” he concedes, and Newton looks smug.

 

* * *

 

The beach is still a little damp from the rain showers—they’d gotten stuck in one on the way here, and Hermann insisted they pull off on the side of the road to wait it out (which was fine by Newt, it just meant hot frontseat car makeouts until the road was visible again)—but Newt digs around a bit in the sand until the dry stuff is on top and then lays the sheet he packed on top of that. “Pretty comfy, huh?” he says, snuggling up to Hermann once Hermann’s properly convinced they won’t walk away from the encounter damp.

“I suppose,” Hermann says. He’s silent for a few moments. “Newton. Are these our nice sheets?”

“Maybe,” Newt says. When Hermann starts to sit up—no doubt to chew Newt out, but come on, they’ve _never_ used the nice sheets, they’ve been sitting in the linen closet for an eternity getting dusty, and what’s a better way to break them in than romantic stargazing trips—Newt grabs his shoulder to stop him. “They were the softest!”

“And now they’ll be ruined,” Hermann sighs, but he lays back down, and Newt resumes snuggling. “You’re washing them when we get home,” he says. He laces his fingers together with Newt’s and squeezes them gently.

Luckily the clouds have cleared enough for them to see the sky, or the whole trip—the drive, the sacrifice of sheets, convincing Hermann to drive out here in the first place—would be a bust. Well. Maybe not a whole bust. It’s nice to just hold Hermann’s hand like this, sometimes, and lay close to him, and the breeze is nice and cool.

“Shooting star,” Newt says, and points at the blaze of light trailing across the sky. Hermann’s not looking where he’s pointing, though—he’s watching Newt.

“Popular superstition would have it,” Hermann says softly, reaching out and brushing his thumb across Newt’s cheek, “that you make a wish now.”

Newt smiles and leans in to the touch. “I’m good,” he says.

 

* * *

  

“You’ve gotten so... _freckled_ ,” Hermann says, eyeing up Newton as he watches him change into pajamas. Newton’s back—free of tattoos, unlike his chest, arms, and stomach—is covered in freckles, darker and more numerous than what Hermann’s used to, likely as a result of all the time they’ve been spending outside lately. It’s the same for Newton’s face: the freckles across his cheeks and forehead were easy to miss during their days in Hong Kong, when they didn’t leave the lab too much (or hardly at all), and Hermann’s thankful that’s not the case anymore. 

Newton drops the t-shirt he’d been about to put on back in the drawer. “Yeah?” he says, and glances over his (freckled) shoulder.

“Yes,” Hermann says. “It’s a good look on you, I must say.” He doesn’t mind Newton’s tattoos, but he wishes he could see if the freckles are as dark on his chest and arms as they are on his back.

Newton bounces onto the bed, still shirtless, and kneels at Hermann’s side. He grins up at him. “Thanks. You have a few, too, you know,” he says, and drags up the hem of Hermann’s t-shirt (technically, it’s Newton’s, but Newton’s stolen so much of Hermann’s clothing it’s only fair he does the same in return) until he’s pulling it over Hermann’s head. He pokes at the top of Hermann’s chest. “There.” Hermann’s skeptical—mostly he just burns or turns bright red, never tans—but he’s surprised to see there are a few little freckles where Newton’s pointing. Newton leans in and pokes at both of his cheeks too. “And here. You’re a _cutie_ , Hermann.”

“Was it necessary to remove my shirt for that?” Hermann says, pleasantly warm in the face. It’s silly, especially considering he and Newton are _married_ , but he can’t help but feel pleased and a little embarrassed when Newton compliments him like that.

“Very, very necessary,” Newton says. “Crucial.” He gently pushes Hermann back against the pillows, hovers over him with that lovely, freckled face of his. “This way I can thoroughly ravish you."

"Get to it, then," Hermann says, and pulls Newton down.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr at hermannsthumb, twitter at hermanngaylieb!


End file.
